


Safe and Sound

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [169]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aural Kink, Aural Voyerism, F/F, F/M, M/M, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, a wee bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 17:44:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16289000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Thor hears things he's not supposed to.





	Safe and Sound

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Journeys (odysseys and quests; time-travel; being lost and trying to get home; road trips; pioneering and exploration, including space travel). Prompt from this [generator](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com/promptsnsfw).

The journey home was a lengthy one and therein, for Thor, lay the problem.

Or perhaps _problem_ was too strong a word; perhaps _quandary_.

He was, of course, immensely grateful that Natasha and Wanda had been kind enough to accompany him. It wasn’t every day that one had to ask one’s friends for such a favor, one that required some weeks away from home--from Earth, even--and promised to stretch his colleagues’ skill and cunning in ways they had never encountered before. To defeat Malkeith, he'd needed a magician and he needed a thief and in Loki’s absence, he could think of none who could match his brothers’ talents better than Wanda, the quiet, dark-eyed witch, and Natasha, the ever-watchful spy.

That they came as a matched set these days had, admittedly, made his task somewhat easier, made it far more likely, he had figured, that both would say yes.

So they had. And what a team the three of them had made. Malkeith and his vicious band of marauders had not, as the humans liked to say, known what hit them.

That the Dark Elf had taken to space at all was vexing enough; surely he would not have dared in Odin’s prime, or had Thor himself been on Asgard’s throne. But Odin was old and sick, far less inclined to cling to life now that Frigga was gone, and Thor was an Avenger now, charged with the particular protection of the peoples of the Earth, and if there were moments when he felt a fist of guilt in his gut, a momentary wave of regret, then so too were there more when he understood that he had made the right choice; Asgard, he felt deep in his soul, was no longer his place.

But there was little doubt that his absence had emboldened the enemies of order that his father had fought for so many millennia to protect; creatures like those of Nifelheim felt it their right to stretch their slimy fingers beyond their Realm to grasp at the next, to test their mettle on the peoples of some far distant star, and it seemed they’d been counting on Asgard’s disinterest.

Asgard may not have stirred when the first cries for help rang out, but the Avengers had. And by the Norns, he and the sorceress and the spy had trapped Malkeith in a web of his own avarice and overconfidence and sent he and his foul friends back to Niflheim for good.

Or until Malkeith’s next great idea, anyway.

And now, he and his friends were on the long arc journey back to Earth, cradled comfortably in a spacecraft of Stark’s own design, with little to do during the coming days, it seemed, except to enjoy each other’s company and wait.

Herein, then, lay Thor’s quandary.

For there was little question that while Natasha and Wanda liked him well enough, they also appreciated spending time together in ways that most assuredly did not involve him. Which of course they did, for they were, as any fool could see, very much and deeply in love, and that was none of Thor’s concern; the difficulty lay, though, in the, ah--the, ah, how could one say it? His cheeks colored merely at the thought--the _volume_ at which such time was often passed. Although when the three of them were together--or indeed, he’d observed, when they were in any sort of company--they were affectionate towards one another but decorous; Natasha might keep her hand twined in Wanda’s hair or Wanda might nuzzle Natasha’s shoulder, but such was the usual extend of their public affections.

It was a different matter, however, on the way back, when they disappeared into their quarters each evening and left Thor alone.

For the walls of Stark’s ship, for all their strength and solidity, were in practice quite thin. Thor hadn’t noticed it on their outward journey, not once, but as they made their return, oh, he could not help but do so.

The first time, some two nights towards home, he’d been awakened from a dead sleep, from a dream of Loki’s mouth at his throat as golden clouds battled overhead; the smell of fresh rain, of ill-tempered wine.

 _Brother_ , this dream-Loki had whispered. _I am yours still. Are you mine?_

But he’d been ripped from Loki’s arms by a moan, the cry of something wounded, of something sweet being pierced.

He lay still for a moment, fist flexing, breathing too hard in the dark, and then the sound came again, the same but different; a moan, yes, but one that was not made of pain.

“Tasha,” he heard, muddled and yet clear. “Tasha, no, stop teasing me, please.”

A rumbled voice in return, the words low and indistinct, and then, after a moment, the slap of skin on skin, moaning replaced by a pulse of hungry whines, of pleasure strung high and tight.

He lay there, that first time, his face hot with desire and shame, and listened to his friends drive each other towards pleasure; the sounds of their bodies colliding, of their mouths moving greedily over the other’s flesh, each of these, he knew, was not his to hear. He should slide from his bed and take himself to the bridge to stare out at the wide vista of cold, sullen stars, but he found himself pinned, held firm in the sheets by the wail of Wanda’s voice, the aching growl Natasha found when she came.

He was embarrassed; embarrassed to be tuned in to so private a thing, to the echoes of an intimacy that was very much not his to share, much less to find so keenly arousing; it was all he could do, that first time, to keep his hand from his cock, to keep from pleasuring himself to the sounds of their voices, to thoughts of the many different ways in which their flesh might be entwined.

He held firm that night, clenching his teeth. The second and the third, too.

He was lonely, he told himself. Still yearning for what he couldn’t have, for that which never again could be. Of course he was tempted.

But by the fourth night, he knew he was beaten when he found himself staying awake, lying in the cold, unforgiving bed and stiffening merely from the anticipation, from the possibility that they might be kissing now, that Natasha might be unfastening Wanda’s blouse and peeling it from her arms; that there was no sound yet because she had her face buried between Wanda’s breasts, her hands sliding up the girl’s sides to find the heat of each, the soft weight, and truly, there was only so much temptation that even a god could bear.

And then he heard it, heard them, heard Natasha’s voice curled in a purr:

“Look at you,” Natasha said. “I barely have to touch you and your pussy’s like cream.”

Wanda keened, a high, fluttered cry.

“Oh yes?” Natasha murmured. “Is there something you want, my sweet girl?”

Wanda cried out again and Thor imagined that Natasha was petting her, teasing her fingers through Wanda’s soft, hot folds.

“Oh, I know there is.” Natasha’s voice was a smirk. “I can see it. You don’t even have to say it. Look how wide your legs are spread. I can see how much you need it.”

“Please,” Thor heard Wanda say, tattered. “Please, Nat. Let me have it.”

“Ah, ah. That’s not for me to decide.” The sound of a kiss, a half dozen more. “You want it, you know what you have to do, don’t you?”

“Mmmm. Ask.”

“That’s right. Good girl. You think you can do that?”

A soft, eager sigh. “Yes, Nat.”

He heard Natasha chuckle. “Do you want to do it right now?”

“What?”

“It’s ok. Go ahead, возлюбленная. I’ll wait.”

Wanda sounded aghast. “No, _no_! I can’t.”

“You can and you will. You’re not going to get it unless you do.”

“Not right now, no. Please. Don’t make me.”

There was a loud creak--the bed, Thor though?--and then a wet sound, like a slow, messy kiss and a moan like the one that had awakened him that first night, as if something sweet had been torn.

“You can have my mouth now. How about that? I’ll give you my fingers and suck on your clit and tomorrow, when you’ve remembered your manners, you can go to him and ask.”

“Yes,” Wanda said, and Thor could imagine her now, her dark head tipped back, clutching at Natasha’s hair as she nuzzled between Wanda’s thighs. “Yes, _yes_. God please, just--”

And then they were both moaning--Natasha’s voice low and damp, Wanda’s soaring like a bird--and Thor was touching himself, sliding his hand in his trousers and pulling heat out and whatever shame he should’ve felt was wiped away by the need in his body, by the sounds of his friends fucking, by the image of Wanda’s breasts, of her fingers on them, teasing her nipples as Natasha snarled and ate her out and the picture was so vivid, so fucking clear--Wanda’s leg strung over Natasha’s shoulder, Natasha’s fingers pistoning in and out--that it tore something out of him, a great, trembling roar, and he came in one long, hungry tear, spunk that shot up his chest, pleasure like a thousand tongues lapping at him, biting gently at the curves of his flesh.

Sleep, when it found him again, spent, wore Loki’s face; dreams with dark hair and quicksilver eyes.

 

*****

In the morning, of course, he felt terribly ashamed. What in all the Realms had been thinking, spying on them like that, using his imagination to reshape the words they fed to each other for his own means, for himself?

So much so that he found himself blushing when Natasha strolled onto the bridge, her face settled into its usual careful mask.

“Any change?” she asked, leaning her arm against the back of his seat. "In our course? Direction? ETA?"

“Ah,” Thor said. “Has there been a, um. No.”

In the viewscreen, he could see her reflection raise its eyebrow. “Ok. Let me take the watch a while, huh? You look like you need some coffee.” She clapped him on the shoulder. “I think Wanda’s made some. Go on.”

It was not, Thor noted, anything other than a command. But then, that was Natasha’s way.

“Very well,” he said, rising. “Thank you.”

He ducked his head and very nearly managed to avoid meeting her eye, hiding his face behind his curtain of hair. But still, there was a glimpse, and to his surprise, she didn’t look suspicious or even mildly perturbed, no; instead, for a moment, he thought what he saw was a smile.

Or not?

“Bring me some when you’re done, please,” she said brusquely, sliding in behind the controls. “Two sugars, no cream.”

In Thor’s head, an echo of the night before: _I barely have to touch you and your pussy’s like cream._

His whole face went cinder and he backed away, trying to outrun his guilt, calling: “Consider it done.”

He found Wanda indeed seated outside the small galley, one mug on the table before her and another curled in her hand.

“Thor,” she said, lifting her head. “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

She smiled at him, a soft curve of her lips, and something in him fluttered. She was, he thought, so very lovely. Where her hair had once been rust, now it was darker, deeper, a warm, rich brown; it made her eyes stand out, this change, made them glow gold and green. It helped, too, that she was dressed in scarlet, a blouse that fastened at her neck and trailed down to her wrists where it seems to him he could see the tenor of her magic curled, lying hot just beneath her skin, waiting for her to summon it to escape.

“Coffee?” she said, a gentle prod, and realized to his horror that he’d been staring.

He snatched at the mug on the table. “Ah, yes. thanks. But Natasha, um, she’d like some, too.”

Wanda chuckled. “I’m sure she does. She’s never very pleasant in the morning, have you noticed?” She turned her fingers in the air and a third mug came at her summons, settled like a bird in the palm of her hand. “I think she takes waking up personally, as if the universe has conspired to cheat her out of her sleep.” Her mouth turned up again. “If she’s said something to you, I hope you don’t take it personally.”

Thor found himself smiling back. “I hadn’t.”

“Good. You know her well, then.” Wanda tilted her head. “What about you, though? How did you sleep?”

Oh hell. “I, uh--well enough, I suppose.”

“Really?” She studied him, her deep eyes sinking in to his. “You do look peaked.”

Thor gritted his teeth and hid behind a few steaming sips. “No, no,” he managed after a moment. “I’m fine.”

She stood up, one brilliant flow of red, and then her hand was on his cheek. “You’re a bit warm, aren’t you?”

“Coffee,” Thor said weakly. “It’s very hot.”

Wanda’s fingers found his forehead. “Oh, my,” she said. “You’re sweating. Do you have a fever?” She was so close now that Thor could see each delicate line on her cheeks, the way each creased as she laughed. “Can gods get colds? I suppose I should’ve started with that.”

She smelled good, like cinnamon, like something sweet and hot, and that she was touching him, albeit only kindly, made the catch in his throat, his dry tongue, that much fucking worse. She was such a powerful creature, he thought; she reminded him of a storm: a red thunderhead facing downwind and still building its strength.

He looked down at her, feeling helpless, feeling his body stir, and he wanted nothing so much as to kiss her, as to turn her small, strong body in his arms and help her to reach for the sounds he knew now she could make.

“I’m not ill,” he croaked. “I didn’t get enough rest, that’s all.”

Wanda smiled at him, her fingers sliding through the long strands of his hair, tugging gently on the thin rope of his mourning braid. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “Did we keep you up?”

He dropped his damnable coffee. “Did you--did you what?”

She stepped through the mess, her breasts brushing his chest. “You heard me.”

“Yeah,” Natasha said from behind him, her voice all spice and swagger, “and you heard me, too.”

Then their arms were about him and he was surrounded, one weight at his back, the other curled tight against his chest, her head tilted up and up towards his, and there was a great deal his body was busy with in that moment other than his brain, but still, his logic was not totally lame.

“You wanted me to hear you,” he said, the words in full stagger. “Is that it?”

Natasha laughed and scratched at his sides. “Wanda did. She wanted you to do her dirty work, Thor.”

Wanda’s fingers found the edge of his tunic and crept under, nails kissing his bare skin. “That,” she said balefully, her lovely face now the color of her dress, “is absolutely fucking true.”

He reached for Wanda’s waist, lightheaded,  and turned his hands about her hips, squeezing at the soft there, the flesh, befuddled and joyously aroused. “What dirty work is this, hmmm?”

Wanda made a soft noise and buried her face against his chest, her fingers on his flesh going hot and still.

“She wants you to fuck her, Thor.” Natasha bit at the base of his neck, hummed: “But she’s too afraid you’ll say no to ask.”

Later, it would all seem a blur: the first time he kissed Wanda, the feel of her hair in his hands, the way her head fell back as she eagerly let him in. Natasha’s amusement, the sound of her laughter; the taste of it when Thor reached for her and she barged into the kiss, standing on her tiptoes and sucking hard on his tongue.

They found the bed, somehow--Thor remembered not a single step; only the rush of Wanda’s breath across his neck as he lifted her, carried her there in his arms--and when they unwound her from her dress, when Natasha knelt behind her and cupped her sweet, heavy breasts, Thor fell to his knees and gave his mouth to them, kissing each curve and lapping at Wanda's nipples, dark and soft but stiffening from Natasha’s firm pinches, from the hungry curl of his tongue.

They made Wanda come like that, he and Natasha; stripped down while the two of them were still clothed. He gave himself to Wanda's cunt, stretching his fingers through the mess, through her wet, and moaned when Natasha told him to lick this way and that; how hard to suck and when to give Wanda his fingers; what she’d feel like inside when Thor made her come.

She flew apart into a thousand butterflies, her hands in Thor’s hair, her head pitched back into Natasha’s shoulder; another stroke, Natasha’s thumb on her clit, the tip of Thor’s tongue, and Wanda was lightning, the cabin suddenly filled with crackle and flash.

“Oh, god,” she cried, her folds fluttering against his face, “do that, just like that, oh please. Make me come again.”

Natasha laughed and slapped the inside of Wanda’s thigh, the blow glancing over Thor’s cheek. “Greedy little girl,” she said as Wanda writhed. “Save something, hmmm? Thor wants to feel you come on his cock.” Her eyes found Thor’s, dark and sharp. “Don’t you, Thor?”

Which was how Thor came to be perched at the edge of the bed, Wanda spread over his lap, wailing, his cock shoved up and in. He let her set the pace, tried to, but it was near impossible with Natasha between his knees, licking hungrily at the place where he and Wanda are joined.

Wanda was a beautiful mess, trembling fine like a leaf at the slide of his fingers over her stomach, around her hip, up to her breasts, and yet she was fucking herself on his cock, her cunt spread and incredibly, impossibly wet.

Natasha sucked at his balls, fierce and perfect, and he grabbed at her hair, one arm still braced around Wanda’s waist.

“Yeah?” Natasha gritted, pitching her voice over the slap of their flesh. “Is that where you want me?”

Thor groaned, drowned the sound in Wanda’s damp curls, but he felt Natasha’s lips turn; answer enough.

Natasha took him in again and his hips kicked and Wanda screamed, a clawing, lovely shriek of want, and then he was fucking her hard, holding her down on his cock and rubbing his mouth against her shoulder, a desperate open-mouthed kiss, one hand still speared in Natasha’s hair.

“Come,” he begged. “Wanda, sweet, please. Please come.”

“Natasha,” Wanda panted, “Nat, oh fuck, I need--”

And then Natasha was moving, her head shooting up, and Thor felt the moment she kissed Wanda’s clit, felt Wanda’s cunt bloom from the inside and out, and somehow, he was deeper inside her and she was clutching at his arms and his cock and he came with a roar, a noise he did not know he could make; filled her helpless with heat and bright summer light.

He caught her wrists as she writhed and felt the spark there, the promise; a hint of all she contained, deep inside.

“Fuck,” Natasha said, a wet slur against the inside of his thigh. “Now I need to know what you taste like.”

“I might,” Thor panted, “say the very same thing to you.”

Time rippled, the bed shook, and he found himself stretched out in the sheets, his face caught between Natasha’s thighs, Wanda’s shaking knees on either side of Natasha’s head as she rubbed herself against Natasha’s mouth, dripped Thor’s spunk on her tongue. She was a fist on the inside, wet for them, ready, and it did not take very long to unwind her, their spy; to send her up and over the edge with three of Thor’s fingers and a shout she muffled in Wanda’s sweet, eager flesh.

Thor kissed her, after; they pulled them up between them, grinning, and he took their mouths each in their turn, watched them turn their faces to each other and kiss slow and lazy, each humming low against his chest.

Natash cupped Wanda's cheek. “Was that everything that you wanted? Having that big cock inside you?”

Wanda sighed, a tremble in her back that Thor couldn’t help but chase with his thumb. “Better.”

Natasha leaned back and smirked into Thor’s face. “What about you, Odinson? Did you like fucking my girl?”

Thor scooped his arm around her shoulders and drew her close, kissed the top of her head. “Well,” he said. “I supposed that depends. Will I get to do it again?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Wanda said, fervent. She tucked her face against Thor’s neck and snuggled up close to him. “Mmmm. Please thank you and yes.”

Natasha chuckled, spread her hand over the dip in Thor’s chest, then reached up to tug gentle at Wanda’s hair. “Eh,” she said. “Maybe. But only after I show you how it’s done.”

“Well,” Thor said with a grin. “If you insist.”

  
*****  
  


“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong with the comm equipment?” Stark said, frowning at FRIDAY’s display.

“Yes, boss. Everything up there is ship and shape.”

“When’s the last time we heard from them, again?”

“18.4 hours ago.”

“Hmmm.” Tony sat back from his desk. “Maybe they’re just busy, huh? Or spending some quality time admiring the view. Gotta be pretty up there. All those nebulas and quasars and stuff.”

“As I said, there’s no sign of trouble with the ship.”

Tony sat back from his desk.  “Well, then.” He squinted at the chronometer. “Give ‘em another couple of hours, till 1600? Then try opening a hailing frequency again.”

“Yes, boss.”

Stark gave the monitor one last look and strode away, his mind already moving on to other things, and FRIDAY? FRIDAY reconsidered the question. Opened the channel as wide as the beam would allow and, instead of asking for a response, listened instead.

And if what the system heard--three voices at great volume, each on its own pitch and dive, a cry of pleasure, a slap, a roar of warm laughter--surprised it, it give no sign.

Instead, FRIDAY generated a text message to Tony: _Trust me, boss: they’re fine._

**Author's Note:**

> You know, sometimes you write something knowing full well that no one will read it but by god, I just had to flesh out this thing. If only to amuse my self.


End file.
